


I wanna be your boyfriend, chapter five

by The_night_max



Series: I wanna be your boyfriend [5]
Category: Entourage
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-08
Updated: 2015-12-08
Packaged: 2018-05-05 17:55:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5384948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_night_max/pseuds/The_night_max
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chapter five! It gets rather rude with someone who isn't E. And there are drugs. And Vince is a bit sad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I wanna be your boyfriend, chapter five

Vince tells Lloyd everything. He does it mostly dry-eyed, feeling oddly detached. Lloyd is sweet and attentive, not saying much beyond assurances and encouragements where Vince needs them. He falters when he gets far enough into the story that he has to think about E’s lips on his, about the weight of E, solid and warm against him, about feeling him shudder and go breathless-slack in his arms. He doesn’t say any of that, of course. He gets round it with: “so then, uh, I, you know… I, um, kissed him” Lloyd looks a little less surprised than Vince might have expected.

“And did he… go with it?”  
“Yeah. We, uh…” he tips his head to the side and makes very vague movements with his hands that must make things clear enough, because Lloyd widens his eyes, gives Vince’s knee a friendly squeeze and says: “Oh. Oh, Vince” with something in his voice that is too close to pity for comfort. 

Getting it all out is cathartic, but when he’s done he feels exhausted and hollowed-out. Lloyd is clearly not sure what he should do now and Vince isn’t either. He feels embarrassed that Lloyd’s seen him cry; with the very rare exception of E he hasn’t cried in front of anyone since he was a kid. He also feels exposed, things were very different – he was different – the first time he’d spilled all his secrets to Lloyd. 

Lloyd clears his throat, looking uncomfortable. “So… you can stay in my room if you want. That would be totally fine, Vince. But I kinda have to go, otherwise Ari will – and I quote him directly – mow me down in his car, reverse over my corpse and then, when my family are weeping at my graveside, drag me from my coffin and make my decomposing body sit through a Powerpoint presentation outlining the myriad ways I let him down. Are you ok though? I feel like maybe you shouldn’t be alone?”  
“I’m ok – No, I am, don’t make that face – I’m gonna go back to sleep then try to figure out what to do when I’m less tired and hungover”  
“OK. Well call if you need me, ok? Or call Johnny or Turtle. Call someone. Although probably not Ari. OK?”  
Lloyd’s fussing is sweet, but Vince just wants him to go. He forces a smile and eventually ushers Lloyd out. For the second time since they got to Cannes, he strips off in someone else’s hotel room and slips between their sheets. He’s so drained he falls into a deep sleep almost immediately, although he’s constantly interrupted by dreams, his subconscious repeating imagined happy endings for he and E over and over again.

When he finally wakes up, groggy and furry-mouthed, it’s early evening. He wants to shower, brush his teeth and change, but he’s definitely not going back to his own room. E’s room. Instead, he uses Lloyd’s shower, then takes some of his toothpaste and rubs it around his mouth with his finger. Lloyd has mouthwash, so he uses that too, then takes one of Lloyd’s t-shirts, nicely cut and black and a little too small for him.

He’d thought to plug in his iPhone before he fell asleep and when he pushes his thumb on the button, its screen lights up with a stack of missed calls and texts. He ignores most of them, but sends Johnny a quick message to let him know he’s ok and that he needs some time after the screening to just be on his own. He runs something Lloyd has from Bumble and Bumble through his hair, sprays some of his Tom Ford, which is spicier than he’d like, then gives himself a last mirror check and heads out.

He ends up at a party on a boat, and, fuck, he’s drunk quickly, but he remembers that he hasn’t eaten all day. He’s standing hips pressed to the bar, elbows leaning on it, feeling light and far away, drinking champagne with something red and sweet in it. Vince thinks of Eric. Not Eric now, but the Eric of his childhood. He remembers the first time that he truly knew Eric was his friend. E thinks it was that time in the warehouse when Vince was so scared he pissed his pants and E came back for him, but he’s wrong. It was after that, when they were a little older. Like most of Vince’s memories of their early friendship, it was a moment borne out of Vince’s intense vulnerability and Eric’s precocious urge to protect him. Vince had been sitting alone on a wall outside a shop on the street where they grew up. He’d run there after his father gripped his upper arm tight enough to leave a fingerprint-perfect set of dark bruises and pushed him back against the fridge so hard he’d wince when he shampooed his hair the next day and the day after that. He’d used a low dangerous voice, breath sour in Vince’s face, and, because Vince had managed to be in his way in their tiny kitchen, had called him an ignorant little fuck and made threats about punishing him that Vince knows aren’t idle. Vince had run because often his pa will forget his rage if Vince gives him long enough. So he was sitting outside the shop, quietly waiting it out, when E had suddenly stepped into his line of vision and asked if he was ok. He’d told E about his pa before, so he’d just given a one-shoulder shrug and said “you know how my dad gets”.

E had sat down next to him, and although he hadn’t even reached his teens, wasn’t even in double figures, he’d sounded so much like a grown-up when he’d said: “Vince, you know, your dad… it’s not ok, what he does. Whatever he says, you know it’s not your fault, right? Your dad is mean to you because he’s mean. It’s him. You shouldn’t have to be scared of him, Vin. He shouldn’t make you scared of him. Your dad, he should be the one you go to when you’re scared, right?”. Vince hadn’t said much back to E, but later, under his blankets queasy with relief that the house had been quiet and still when he let himself back in, he’d thought about what Eric had said and repeated the words to himself over and over again and for the first time in his life, he fell asleep without needing his thumb pressed in the hollow behind his front teeth and his fingers curled over his top lip. He’d know then that E understood, and that he loved Vince in a way nobody else did. 

He’s brought back to the present, where E is as distant as he was close to him in that far-away moment, by someone pressing themselves against the bar next to him and asking if he wants another drink. Vince hadn’t realised he’d finished drinking, but his glass is empty so he says ‘sure’, while he tries to place the guy next to him. It comes to him that he’s an indie director and that they met briefly at a party Billy had a few months ago. The guy is married, Vince remembers, and his name is something hipster like Lazlo or Shale or Quinoa. Like last time they met, the guy isn’t acting very married. Sure, he’s not touching Vince in an obvious way, but when he talks to him his mouth is so close his lips brush Vince’s ear and there’s no space between their bodies. The guy, who it turns out is ridiculously named Woodrow is flirting hard enough for Vince to wonder if his wife knows he fucks guys, or if he does this in secret. Wife or not, he decides that fucking Woodrow is exactly the distraction he needs. So the next time the guy puts a hand on his shoulder and leans right in and not-at-all accidentally-or-subtly scrapes Vince’s jawline with his stubble saying something Vince could have heard from a foot away, he tilts back his head so his own mouth is level with Woodrow’s ear and tells him which hotel he’s staying at.

“Give it 15, then meet me in room zero” he says, and he downs his drink and walks out.   
It’s no problem getting a second room pass from the slightly star-struck girl on the reception desk and he knows there’s no chance Johnny will be back any time soon, so he lets himself into the suite that should have been his all along. It’s even bigger than E’s room and has its own hot tub and plunge pool. Vince goes straight to the fridge and pops the cork on a bottle of champagne; he swigs down a good third of the bottle, then goes to the bathroom, brushes his teeth with Johnny’s brush and runs his hands through his hair. He strips off his jeans and is sitting on the deck in just Lloyd’s t-shirt and his boxers, feet in the pool and champagne bottle to his mouth, when there’s a sharp rap at the door. 

Vince opens it, putting everything he has into looking sexy and like he doesn’t care whether he looks sexy. Woodrow is barely in the door before he’s kissing Vince, lifting the champagne from his hand and taking long swallows.  
“Fuck you’re hot” he breathes “I knew you’d be into this when we met at Walsh’s thing”  
“Yeah? I didn’t think you were looking. With your wife being there”  
“Don’t mention my fucking wife”, he moans, licking champagne onto Vince’s neck.  
“So she doesn’t know you do this?”  
“No, Vince, she does not. Are you going to talk about her the whole time? Because it’s not good sex talk”  
“I’m just checking we’re on the same page about keeping this quiet”  
“I want to fuck you Vince, not out you”  
It’s enough for Vince, who kisses the almost-stranger fiercely, undoing the buttons on the skinny-fit shirt he’s wearing and stripping his own t-shirt over his head. 

For a while they just kiss and stroke and grab, Woodrow running his fingers up and down Vince’s stomach and over the tight, bone-defined V of his pelvis, telling him how hot he is.

After a little while of that, Woodrow pulls away and asks Vince if he does coke.  
“Sometimes” says Vince, which is a lie.  
“Want some?”  
“Uh… sure” Because why the fuck not? Really, it’s amazing he’s got this far and never tried it.  
Vince watches the guy tap out two lines and then roll a bill and use it to hoover one of them, before handing the tube to Vince.  
He thinks it will be a little like when water get in your sinuses and it is, in that he can feel the tiny crystals whoosh up into his skull and it’s sort of cold. The drug kicks in instantly, and it’s truly a kick, like being the best kind of drunk, but more. He vibrates with energy and confidence and he wants Woodrow so much it burns in him and he’s breathless with it.

Vince has no way of knowing if it’s the coke or just the way he is, but Woodrow is hungry and rough and assertive. He directs Vince, comfortable telling him when he’s not getting it right. He pins Vince’s wrists behind him in the hot tub, teasing him until he’s on the edge, but refusing to let Vince touch him at all. Then he moves them inside, telling Vince to get onto his own bed. He won’t let Vince go down on him when he tries and doesn’t return the offer. Apart form telling Vince where to be and what to do, he doesn’t talk at all, except to ask where the lube is. Vince takes a chance and reaches into the drawer of the nightstand. Johnny comes good – there’s a bottle of Astroglide and rubbers.

Vince lets himself be fucked long and hard and fierce by this guy who he’s fairly sure he wouldn’t like if they got to know each other. It’s over when he comes inside Vince, arching his body away from him and hissing ‘fuck’ between his teeth. Vince already came earlier, panting and helpless to stop himself as Woodrow stroked and fucked him at the same time.

Vince falls asleep, or maybe he passes out, and he only stirs when Johnny comes back as it’s getting light and shakes him awake to ask why he’s there. Woodrow is gone and Vince is conscious enough to be relieved, because he wouldn’t really fancy explaining that one to Johnny. As it is, Johnny is absolutely hammered and just gets into bed himself when Vince doesn’t answer, snoring loudly almost instantly.

It’s much later when he next wakes, he gets up and as soon as he’s standing his head is all sharp strobes of pain and nausea surges through him. He stumbles into the bathroom and feels no better for throwing up. He’s leaning back against the wall, pressing the back of his skull against the tiles when the door opens and Johnny comes in with water and pills which make Vince dry heave when he swallows them.

“OK baby bro?”  
Vince nods. “Hungover” he says, and his voice is raw and hoarse.  
“What’d you get up to last night?”  
“I dunno. A party. I was on a boat”  
“Huh. You bring the party back here?”  
“I dunno. Maybe. I don’t remember Johnny, why?”  
“Because, baby bro, it looks a lot like someone was snorting fucking cocaine on the coffee table last night”  
“Oh. Uh, yeah. A little. One line. It was fine”  
“It’s not fuckin fine, Vince, that shit is poison”  
“Can we not do this Johnny? I’ve had a shitty few days, I took one line of coke. I don’t think NA are about to come and stage an intervention because I took coke once”  
“Everyone starts with just doing it once Vin”  
“Johnny. Drop it, ok?”  
Johnny glares at him but stops talking. For a beat or two anyway.  
“Uh, Vin, did you bring someone back last night?”  
Vince feels a cold sweat that has nothing to do with the hangover. “Yeah”, he says shortly.   
“A girl?”  
Vince looks at him. Johnny knows something.  
“Johnny, I…” he trails off as Johnny hands him a piece of hotel notepaper.  
‘Vince, you fuck like a demon. Catch you next time Billy has a party, Woody’. Vince’s cheeks burn and he stares down at the note so hard his eyes blur as he tries to think whether there’s anything plausible he can make up, but he’s silent long enough for Johnny to not even bother asking him anything he has to try and deny.  
“Was this just one time too?”  
Vince shakes his head very slightly.  
“Are you gay?” Johnny is incredulous and there’s an edge in his voice that Vince is sure means he’s hoping as hard as Vince is that he’ll say something to make this go away.  
“Not exactly. I… Kind of” he mumbles, and really, how is he having this conversation again, hungover, again.  
“Well Jesus Vince, you sure fucking covered it well. What’d you do, just think of dicks every time you were with a woman? Because there have been a lot of fuckin’ women. I mean, that is a fuckin’ lot of thinking about dicks”  
“No, I wasn’t thinking of dicks. Fuck, Johnny. It’s… It’s complicated, ok? I, I can’t-”  
Johnny interrupts him by reaching over resting his hand on Vince’s shoulder.  
“Hey, it’s ok. Vin, you’re my baby bro. If you’re gay, you’re gay, I love you whatever, you know that. But the disappearing act, coke, this guy… Something’s goin’ on with you Vin and I don’t like it. Do you wanna talk about it?”  
“Fuck no. I mean, thanks Johnny. But the coke, Christ, my career just fell apart, I’m allowed to get a little fucked up. And I’m pretty sure neither of us need to talk about me fucking guys, right? I’ve always done it, it’s not a big deal”  
Johnny looks a little uncomfortable, but mostly sad.  
“Whatever you want baby bro. Here if you need me, alright?”  
He gives Vince’s shoulder a hard, reassuring squeeze.  
“Thanks Johnny”  
“But it’s nothin’ to be ashamed of Vinnie. You know that right? You wanna keep it to yourself that’s your choice, I guess you got your reasons. But don’t do it because you’re ashamed”  
Vince says nothing, but he reaches over and hugs Johnny, who gives him a long, un- self-conscious hug back.  
“Get a shower baby bro, I’ll make you a coffee, then we gotta get to the airport”  
Vince had forgotten they’re flying back today, which means he’s going to have to face up to E, because there’s really no escaping someone when you’re spending 12 hours in the cabin of a small plane together. He’s fairly sure it’s his anxiety over that as much as yesterday’s alcohol that makes him throw up again.

He spends a long time in the shower, letting the jets pummel his skin, using all of Johnny’s products which, if their claims are true, should collectively leave him looking about 20 years younger and with the hair of a shampoo model. By the time he’s done – and has brushed his teeth twice – he feels more human, and he can’t face putting his sweaty, spilled-on clothes back on, so he puts on a robe and heads to the lounge, where Johnny has made him a good strong coffee. After a few sips, he asks Johnny if he’ll go get him some clean clothes from E’s room. Johnny agrees, because he always agrees to anything Vince asks him.  
“Is everything ok with you and E bro? He was asking about you yesterday and he was really fuckin’ weird all day. You know, more than usual”  
Vince thinks that he’s going to have to find a way to not want to cry every time someone even mentions E.  
“We just argued. It was about the film”  
Johnny narrows his eyes, but either decides that pushing Vince for the truth is a terrible idea right now, or that actually, he’s already guessed the truth and would rather pretend he hasn’t for a bit longer.

He’s back minutes later with Vince’s bag, which he says E had already packed and of course when Vince opens it everything is folded like it just came from a store because E is so precise – such a fucking robot – he could never do anything else.  
“Whatever is goin’ on with you two, I hope you fix it soon, because I don’t know what’s worse; you going off the rails or E acting like he just found out there’s an asteroid headed our way and he’s Bruce Willis”, says Drama as Vince drags out black jeans and an old green tshirt he usually sleeps in, deliberately turfing everything out of the bag and taking petty pleasure at undoing E’s tidiness.   
He wants to ask about E so that he can decide how he should act when they see each other, but between this morning’s revelation and the fact he’s been avoiding E like he has lice for the past 24 hours, if Johnny somehow hadn’t worked out what’s happened between them yet, quizzing him like a lovesick teenager would be as good as telling him.

In the end, they manage not to talk at all on the ride to the airport. E gets in the front and doesn’t talk to anyone and Vince sits next to Turtle, who pries for details of Vince’s lost day, guessing at what he did and getting absolutely nothing right. Vince plays along, like Turtle’s guesses are anything other than wistful projection of his own fantasies. Cannes slips by, sun-glazed and golden-stoned. It occurs to Vince that he saw nothing of the city; barely left the hotel; didn’t even hear anyone speak French, and he feels a sense of loss over everything he’s missed and might never come back to see.

He and E manage to not speak without directly ignoring each other as they wait for the plane and board, Vince happy to let Turtle monopolise him, E happy to pretend hid blackberry is that busy with crucial emails. Maybe it is, Vince wouldn’t know. 

It gets a bit more awkward on the plane because it’s small – there are two recliners on either side of the aisle and not much else – and they end up next to each other. But they’re all quiet, hungover and deflated by the visit, so actually nobody talks much and by the time they take off everyone has found blankets and pillows and is starting to sleep or pretending to. Vince actually does doze off. When he wakes up, the blinds are closed so the cabin is dark and white-noise quiet, Drama and Turtle are snoring quietly, and E is staring down at him, looking absolutely lost and hollow and sad.

Vince makes eye contact and E doesn’t look away. They stay like that for a few moments.  
“Vince, I’m so sorry” he says quietly, and Vince doesn’t know what he’s sorry for this time.  
“What for?” he says, because fuck it, there’s nothing left to lose between he and E now.  
“For yesterday. For leaving you. For being scared” E’s voice wavers and his eyes are glassy. Vince doesn’t say anything.  
“Vince, it wasn’t a mistake. You weren’t a mistake” he says, and then he has to stop. Vince’s heart is thudding, he can feel it under his breastbone, resonating through his clavicle, blood pulsing hot and quick, loud and powerful in his ears.  
“What are you saying, E?” he asks and he wants his voice to be flat and toneless, but it isn’t.  
“I don’t know, exactly” he whispers, and shifts in his seat so that he’s closer to Vince, their faces are just inches away from each other “I just know it wasn’t a mistake, and I’m so so sorry I did that to you”  
Vince doesn’t say it’s ok, but he doesn’t move away and his anger at Eric is something he couldn’t reach if he tried right now.  
“Vin, can we work out what we do now? Can you forgive me?”  
Vince’s stomach twists and he feels on the brink of something terrifying and wonderful. He hasn’t got a clue what it is that they do now, but he doesn’t even need to think about whether he can forgive E.  
“I don’t think I know how to do anything else” he says very quietly. E looks at him for a few moments, then shifts again and moves in toward Vince. Vince is sure he’s about to kiss him, when Eric abruptly pulls back “Uh, is it ok if I?...”  
Vince is about to move in and kiss Eric in answer, but he realises that what he wants more is to be kissed, so he just smiles very slightly and nods, and then E’s lips are on his. It’s a soft, warm, dry kiss. E gently reaches over and strokes down Vince’s jaw and they pull apart before either of the other guys wakes up or the steward decides to check on them. Under the blanket, Vince feels E’s fingers slip between his and, where nobody can see they silently hold hands, linked together like they always have been, and like they never have been before.


End file.
